All Your Base Are Belong To Peabs.
Every once in while, when Peabs isn't busy snorting lines of red rock off of the supple, bovsed-upon tees of a buxom harlot, I like to curl up with a nice warm cup of pennyroyal tea and a good book. Lately I have been reading my long-winded yet wildly-heralded classic, "Atlas Shrugged", and contemplating a possible revision, with the help of Dr. Bill Cosby (like Peabs, a best-selling author and drug abuser, snatch). Coz's suggestion is rather brills: John Galt would be renamed Mr. Flazzumpants and instead of "stopping the motor of the world", he would dedicate his life to shoving a package of Skittles® up his sugar-sweet butthole, beg Charles Atlas to toss his salad and subsequently flatulate the candies into Atlas' mizz, ordering him to "taste the rainbow", thus causing him to shrug. Bovs. Now, we all know that Peabs is the most creative (lest we forget prettiest) motherfucker on the planet; but even yours effing truly couldn't match that idea. Although, my version would hogsviously include a coked-out giraffe deep-throating Francisco d'Anconia. Bovs she marred all over your fucking shmidgie-shmadge, Mr. Super Wave Market Marrisimo. Robvs.
Speaking of totally unrelated segues, how was your fucking Thanksgiving? Did you get enough
turkey Peabs to eat? Considering I was the only American to lose weight over the weekend, it appears as though you got your effing fill. Gobble! I spent most of my week vacationing in the Cherbourg peninsula off the west coast of France, smoking hashish and reaquainting myself with the old jism trails of yesteryear. It was there that Peabs met up with my old friend and fellow child prodigy Jordy, who, much like myself has let his stardom get the best of him. This should schmobvs come as no surprise. He was a fucking musical giant. Duh.
Needless to say, Jordy and myself had a lot of stories to swap. Obvs, Peabs had become the world's most recognized and beloved human being, and resultantly was elected President of the United States. Jordy, on the other hand, went in a different direction.
At first, the ridiculously talented vocalist seemed to be riding the waves of success towards an even brighter future. He signed a multifranc deal with the French distributor of Ocean Spray®, for which he was obligated to appear in numerous television and print ads. This apparently went quite well for the first year, though Jordy got mixed up in what most lame fucks would refer to as a "bad crowd." Me? I call them my Cabinet, but that's neither here nor there. Anywizz, Jordy had developed quite an addiction to methcathinone and was soon uncontrollably jerking off in midst of filming and referring to his jazz as his "possédez très le jet d'océan" (translation: "very own ocean spray"). Hot.
Be that as it may, Jordy sunk into a deep depression, sold away the rights to his smash hit "Dur Dur D'etre Bebe" and blew it all on drugs. Now, Peabs understands that many of you (momos) may find this story tragic, but Jordy did stage a bit of a comeback; a swan song, if will. In 1996, he created a popular inner-city game affectionately called 'Peanut-Butter Ball' and has been reaping in the royalties ever since. So with his earnings he decided to treat Peabs and Dr. Bill Cosby to an evening of kit kat-blowing and sloppy beejers at the local brothel. Sure, I know it sounds like a pretty lackadaisical night in the life of your gorgeous and fearless leader, but it was fucking Thanksgiving weekend! You try assfucking a French whore while smothered in gravy! She mars.
It pays to be the President and friends with washed-up French singers. Especially those who are 16 and addicted to a drug I've never even heard of. Wait, who am I kidding? I've done so much methcathinone, I make Johnny Unitas look like Wembley Fucking Fraggle. Ooh-jah!
I'm pretty. You have no chance to survive make your time. Obvs.
Peabs/Cosby: 4 More Shmears!